Today, a B-17 spared. The University of Houston's College of Engineering
presents this series about the machines that make our civilization
run, and the people whose ingenuity created them.

It's pretty common knowledge that soldiers, given a chance
to shoot an enemy, often won't do it. No surprise, really. Killing one of our own
species is an unnatural act. Armies try to find means for breaking down their
soldiers' resistance to killing.

And yet we're greatly moved when we learn of an act of mercy between enemies in
the heat of combat. I recently read one such story about Oberleutnant Franz Stigler.
Stigler's father had been a pilot in WW-I, and he wanted to be one too.

Stigler took up flying in 1927 when he was only twelve. He became a civilian pilot
and a flying instructor. Then WW-II began and he became a fighter pilot. He flew
ME-109s, first in North Africa, then back in Europe. That was Germany's workhorse
fighter. Over 30,000 were made.

And Stigler was a workhorse airman. He flew over 400 combat missions, was shot down
repeatedly, wounded four times, shot down some 45 Allied airplanes, and lost a brother
early in the war. He was clearly past any resistance to pulling the trigger. At
least until December 20th, 1943.

He was flying out of Holland, intercepting Allied bombers. He'd already shot down two
that day. Now he'd been sent up to bring down a lone B-17. As he drew close, he
noticed that the ever-dangerous tail gun wasn't tracking him. He closed in, and what
he saw was horrific.

The tail was half shot away. Antiaircraft fire had wrecked the nose; one engine dead
and one dying; tail gunner dead; waist-gunners wounded; wounded pilot struggling to
stay conscious; airframe riddled with bullets. Stigler was appalled. He pulled alongside
the bomber, now near ground level, caught the pilot's eye, escorted him to the North Sea,
then saluted and turned homeward.

He would've been accused of treason, so he said he'd shot the plane down over the Sea.
Instead of punishment, he got medals and a chance to fly Germany's first jet fighter.
Meanwhile, the B-17 pilot, Charles Brown, got back to England where he was told to forget
the story. It'd make the enemy look good and hurt morale.

After the war, Stigler left Germany, moved to Canada, and eventually ran a trucking company
out of Vancouver. All the time he wondered if the B-17 crew had survived. A friend of
Charlie Brown's finally wrote to a newsletter for German pilots. Did anyone know the pilot
who'd spared Brown's airplane.

That's how, one day, Brown got a letter from Stigler. They finally met in a Seattle hotel,
and something clicked. They became fast friends -- brothers -- staying in touch until
Stigler died at 94. Afterward, one obituary said he was survived by his wife, daughter,
and Charlie Brown of Perrine, Florida.

After he flew ME-109's in combat, Stigler went on the fly the radical new
Messerschmitt 262
powered by two jet engines. Also, though I don't mention it in the episode, Brown actually
flew first to Sweden and was, from there, sent back to England.

My thanks to listener John Baker for suggesting the topic.

A display showing a downed ME-109 at Great Britain's Duxford Air Museum. (Photo by J. Lienhard)